Aberrant
by Nicoteen
Summary: Amidst the chaos of the Shivering Isles, the Madgod needs an anchor as she waltzes through her days as a Daedric Prince. Haskill is only too thrilled to oblige.
1. Uncommon

A/N: I just couldn't resist. The Shivering Isles are too much fun, and Haskill is a piece of work. xD Playing around as Sheogorath is ridiculously gratifying; thus, we have a multi-chaptered adventure as our Breton stumbles through the life of a Daedra Prince.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

**Chapter One:** Languid

"Lord Sheogorath..." Haskill trailed off, staring at his lord blankly.

The newly appointed Madgod blinked up at him blearily from her perch on the throne, legs throne over an arm, head dangling off the other side. Regarding her chamberlain upside down, the sleepy Breton yawned widely and sat up slowly.

"What is it, Haskill? I was napping, and having a very pleasant dream about...I don't remember what about, but I remember it was pleasant."

"Indeed, milord. I was simply about to suggest that you relocate to your quarters in the House of Dementia. No doubt it would be far more comfortable than the throne, milord." Ever the polite chamberlain, Haskill refrained from commenting on the bruised state of the Madgod's eyes.

Blue eyes studied him for a moment before she nodded and stood, stumbling a little in her haste to get to her comfortable bed. Reaching out a golden hand, the Aureal escort to her right steadied the Breton as she collected herself, eyes closed against the dizziness that drifted around her skull.

"Are you quite alright, Lord?" The Healer piped up from the bottom of the stairs, her face pinched in worry.

The sleepy Daedra Prince nodded absently and patted the Aureal on the hand before tripping down the steps and making her way to the House of Dementia. Half way there, she turned and regarded Haskill, weariness making way for a twisted alertness.

"Doesn't it seem odd to you, Haskill, that inspite of all the space there is in this palace, with the chamber housing the pools, and each of the houses, there is no private quarters for the Madgod? Surely he..." Here she trailed off, eyes downcast and unfocused as she stared at the regal outfit her chamberlain has gently suggested she wear, gripping the staff at her side tightly. Despite how comfortable it was, it brought many memories of...him.

Some of the frostiness fell from Haskill's posture, and his bored features softened somewhat. "Your predecessor did not require personal lodgings, milord. He did not sleep."

Haskill watched as his lord looked up slowly at him from her inspection of her outfit, her shoulder's sagging somewhat. Understanding crept upon him; Mabery (_Sheogorath,_ he corrected himself fiercely) was lost without the jovial former Madgod to guide her along and needed another connection to the man (_Daedra_) to ground herself. In the weeks following Jyggalag's appointing her to the throne, the Madgod had been lethargic, almost zombie-like as she tended to the affairs of the Isles.

Deeply buried was the snarky Breton girl (_woman)_ who had taken the Shivering Isles by storm with her strongly instilled sense of justice and playful, almost wickedly so, nature. As she spend more time among the mad folk of the realm, that playfulness had been tainted slightly, evolving into something just a _little_ more vicious, a little more bloodthirsty. Sighing inwardly, Haskill quickly made his decision.

Straightening his collar, the chamberlain composed himself before continuing. "However, the matter of appointing the new rulers of Mania and Dementia still remains. Such a ruler will surely be in need of their quarters, as such, the creation of milord's own quarters would not be remiss. Would tommorrow be better suited for this venture, Milord?" Keeping his tone even, Haskill repressed a smile at the sight of his Lord brightening as she did.

A bit of fire returned (_finally)_ to the young Madgod's eyes and she smiled at her chamberlain appreciatively, making her way up the stairs to plant a small kiss on his cheek before leaning back. "Thank you, Haskill. Tomorrow would be...perfect. " She grinned widely, all teeth and incisors before trotting to the door to Dementia.

"Oh, and do me a favor, Haskill? Scrounge up the Wabbajack."

With that, Mabery Litisette dissappeared behind the heavy oak door of Dementia, leaving behind a bewildered chamberlain, a giggling Healer, and two very amused Escorts.

**Next Chapter:** Our Madgod receives a crash course on interior design, Haskill's feathers are ruffled (again), and Sanguine is a bit nosy.


	2. Decadent

**A/N**: This one is rather long.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing you recognize, nor the lyrics.

_Where is the middle, is the middle of your mind_

_Is it the place where you stop, where you just stop trying?_

Biting her lip in concentration, Mabery tilted her head and considered the stone alcove before her. Sitting behind the throne and the entrance to the Pools, lay the alcove that held Jyggalag's sword. Spinning her staff idly, the recently appointed Sheogorath turned to Haskill who stood nearby.

"Good a place as any, don't you think Haskill?" the Breton questioned, chewing her thumb nail nervously.

"A most convenient place, milo-" A panicked look from his charge silenced him and she spoke up quickly.

"It is a place, right?"

Haskill paused. Anxiety clouded Mabery's (_Sheogorath's) _delicate features and she wrung her hands in despair.

Choosing his words carefully, the chamberlain replied. "Of course, milord. This is your realm; you choose what places are, and which are not."

The room was silent for a beat before the Madgod brightened considerably and smirked in delight, eyes alighting with wonder.

"Wonderful. Thank you Haskill now..." She hummed absently, attaching the staff at her hip and moving forward, soft breeches rustling softly. Mabery had abandoned her regalia in favor of more comfortable clothing.

Reaching forward, she grasped the hilt of the large sword tightly and heaved it off the pedastal, swinging it expertly. With a grin she turned back to Haskill and handed him the sword, turning back to the alcove before she could catch the chamberlain's overwhelmed stumble.

_I am a humble servant, not an adventurer. _He thought grumpily, swiftly handing the sword to the Mazken who stood in the shadows.

He ignored the smug look the guard shot the seething Aureal.

Meanwhile, the Madgod had her hands on her hips, staring balefully at the stone in front of her, as if to morph it through sheer force of will. A few moments passed before she turned to Haskill.

"Haskill, I don't know what to doooo." She whined, staring up at him with large eyes. Even when she had been a mere adventurer tresspassing in the Asylums Mabery knew how to push the Chamberlain's buttons.

Haskill sighed. "Close your eyes and simply imagine what you wish your quarters to resemble, milord, and it shall be."

Really. One would think a newly appointed Daedric Prince would have a little common sense.

_Except this is the realm of the Madgod, and the only ones with any sense are those who don't last long enough to have a decent conversation._ He thought with a mental sigh.

Mabery exhaled deeply and closed her eyes, mind spinning ideas over and over again, cementing them with details as she perfected what would be her home. Colors swirled in a sickening vortex in the center of the alcove and Haskill felt nausea creep up beneath his ribs as tendrils of pure energy snaked from the center of the vortex and spiderwebbed into the wall.

A low rumble sounded and the stones retreated back into their neighbors, making way for large double oak doors, the morbid smiling face of Mania etched in Orange on the left, and the horrid frowning face of Dementia carved in teal on the right.

"Not the most cheerful of doors, I should think..." A silky smooth voice mused.

Whirling around, the Madgod found the lean form of a man leaning nonchalantly against the entrance to the pools, eyeing his fingernails in interest. She bared her teeth in rage, incisors glinting dangerously in the firelight. The escorts stood in shock for a moment before drawing their respective weapons, moving to each side of their lord.

Wincing, Haskill stepped forward, hand raised. "Milord, allow me to introduce...Lord Sanguine, Daedric Prince of hedonistic revelry, debauchery, and...passionate indulgences."

Mabery relaxed and her snarl melted into a small frown, blue eyes narrowed. Looking closely, Haskill noted her pupils had elongated slightly, resembling those of a cat.

A sharp laugh interrupted the chamberlain's musings as Sanguine doubled over, slapping his thigh for relief. His form was a far cry from the Prince's usual, instead a shirtless and toned young man, and Imperial by the looks of it, dark hair atop his head glinting in the firelight. Looking up, his yellow Daedra eyes bore into those of the Madgod, twinkling micheviously.

"Quite the spitfire aren't you, little Prince? Not to worry, sweetling, I mean you now harm." The Prince stated smoothly, his mouth twisted into a seductive smile.

The Breton wrinkled her nose and her eyes lost their venom as she stared up at Sanguine.

"What are you doing here? I don't recall inviting you. What brings you to the Asylums, Sanguine?" Mabery bit out politely, hand twitching to her staff.

The Prince didn't answer, his eyes sliding over the Escorts who stood resoloutely beside their Lord. With a sharp sigh, Mabery waved them away, assuring the persistent Aureal with a pointed look that she'd be fine. With mutually mutinous thoughts, the Escorts glided away to their respective positions beside the throne.

Sanguine's golden gaze moved to Haskill but was stopped in his tracks by a cough from the Madgod. "Haskill is my chamberlain. He stays."

The other sighed. "If he must. Now, to answer your question, I came to see what all the fuss was about. And you certainly didn't dissappoint." He grinned, licking his lips as he looked her up and down.

A sniff."Fuss? There's been a fuss? Why wasn't I invited?" She sounded offended.

"Because, sweetling, _you_ were the fuss. First, Jyggalag's sudden release, then his announcement that his chosen replacement as Prince of Madness is a _mortal girl_, along with his declaration of loyalty to said girl? I can assure you, the remaining Princes are in quite the tizzy. I heard Dagon threw an absoloute fit." Sanguine chuckled at the thought.

Mabery was silent for a moment, before smiling brightly. "Jyggalag swore loyalty to me? Oh how sweet! Isn't that great, Haskill? I've made a friend," She sighed dreamily, stumbling back against the double doors.

Slightly alarmed, Haskill stepped forward and pushed his charge into a sitting position, his hand on her shoulder as she slumped forward. Cheek in palm, she looked up at Sanguine a bit sleepily.

The other Prince looked down at her curiously before emitting sharp bark of a laugh. "You've overdone it darling. Creating an entire suite out of nothing is quite the feat for a new Prince, especially a mortal. How could you let her press herself so, naughty Chamberlain." Trotting forward, he gripped Mabery gently by the arm and hauled her up, arm wrapping around her waist to keep her upright. "Now that you've almost completely drained yourself, let's see what you've come up with, yeah? I'm sure the bed will be most interesting pit stop." He smirked and pushed the double doors open, careful to push exactly in the middle.

Haskill let out a dramatic sigh and followed the pair of Daedric Princes into the suite.

ooo

"Now see here, no no wake_ up_ sweetling, these curtains should be a less harsh shade of orange. It compliments the carpet more." Sanguine instructed, his grip looser on the other Prince.

Mabery yawned sleepily and nodded. Upon walking through the doors, she was greeted with a room as large as the throne room. In the center, lay a fountain, withering moon on the right growing wildly and flame stalk on the left. Bookshelves lined each wall of the rounded room, towering all the way up to the steeped ceiling. Behind the fountain, the room narrowed into the entrance of her bedchamber. Instead of a traditional bed, a small circular pit lay in front of the fireplace, filled with blankets neatly tucked in and lined with pillows.

"Mm. Now I may have to do a bit of refurnishing myself," Sanguine noted, eyeing the bed with interest.

Haskill repressed a disgusted snort and Mabery simply snickered softly, moving forward to plop into it unceremoniously. To the right of the bed lay an alchemical alcove and a door to the lavatory. To the left lay a direct door to the kitchens (how his lord managed this, Haskill had yet to discover) and large circular table adorned with fresh fruit and various bottles of water and other drinks.

"Hm. It's rather dark in here," Sanguine muttered, the only light emitted from the fireplace and the flame stalk and withering moon on either side. With a snap of his fingers, torches adorned each side of the room, and a large stained glass window appeared above the fireplace.

"There!" He shouted happily, settling beside the Madgod on the bed. "That ought to do it."

The Madgod looked up at Haskill from her position in the pit-bed, smiling micheviously.

"Now that that's taken care of...what say you join us down here, Haskill?" She intoned silkily, twisting until she sat on her knees.

Paling, Haskill turned and walked quickly out of the suite, tossing back over his shoulder. "I'm afraid I have other duties milord. The wabbajack is ever elusive."

Peals of laughter from both Princes followed him out of the room.


	3. Note

A/N: I know, I know.

For those of you who skip over this, i understand. I hate fake chapters as much as the next person, but it was necessary.

I've come to the conclusion that this story is a piece of garbage. From my point of view, at least. I'm flattered and honored that people actually still read this thing, but I hate looking at it.

I'm considering re-writing it from the beginning (i.e., Cyrodiil to the Shivering Isles.).

I'll leave it up for now, but don't be surprised if you come to the internet one day to find it gone.


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